


Rock Bottom

by AnnaKnitsSpock



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Kirk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Series Pre-Movie, Post-Star Trek I: The Motion Picture, Star Trek I: The Motion Picture, Top Spock, post Gol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaKnitsSpock/pseuds/AnnaKnitsSpock
Summary: When Spock leaves Jim to pursue Kolinahr, it sends Jim into three years of despair. He accepts a promotion he doesn't want, loses his sense of self, and ultimately gets stuck in an unwanted sexual habit. Jim is certain Spock will never come back to him, but when he unexpectedly returns from Gol during the V'Ger mission, can the two men find their way back to each other?





	Rock Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> This was my contribution to the 2017 KisCon zine. Thank you to Amanda and Rhaegal for putting on such a lovely event and compiling an absolutely beautiful zine.

Jim had never liked meaningless sex. He didn’t go for quick fucks in bathroom stalls or drunken, half-remembered nights with someone whose name he didn’t know. It didn’t matter the length of the experience, as long as it was meaningful and mutual. Even casual encounters could hold a sweet significance for him, each a brief but intimate moment where separate bodies became one.

His libido was relentless at times, yes, but Jim was still a romantic at heart. He had no interest in emotionless sex that served only to get someone off.

But nothing was permanent. Nothing lasted. _Nothing gold can stay_ , as the old poem went.  


Things were different now.

Jim squinted against the burn in his ass, palms flat against the wall to which he was practically being nailed. The man at his back was shorter than him but strong, and this was too rough, too hard. But Jim didn’t mind. The physical pain was a brief distraction from the other pain, the one he didn’t want to think about.

“Do you like that, _Captain_?” the man slurred. Jim hoped the guy wouldn’t remember this tomorrow. As a well-known Starfleet Captain—Admiral, he reminded himself, Admiral—he was taking a risk wandering into a gay bar and offering his hole to the first man he thought might hurt him. Not that he was breaking regulations or anything, but he knew this could cause a minor scandal if it got out.

The man thrust into him particularly hard. “I _said_ , do you like that?”

“Yeah,” Jim lied. This wasn’t about liking. It wasn’t about pleasure. It was about surviving.

“Good. Never woulda guessed a ladies man like you would want it up the ass, _Captain_.”  


Jim balked at the sarcastic way he kept saying “Captain.” It brought to mind the searing image of Spock underneath him on one particular night, writhing and sweaty and at the edge of his control, repeating, “Please, Captain, please, please, please, Captain.”

It clearly wasn’t intentional—Spock often called him Captain in private out of habit, and he had been so far-gone then it seemed like he was just slipping into what was most familiar. Truthfully, it was adorable, and Jim hadn’t been able to resist purring back, “Yes, Mr. Spock? What would you like?”

Spock’s eyes had focused briefly, seeming to realize what he had been calling Jim, but glazed over again as Jim picked up his pace. “Do you want me to fuck you hard, Mr. Spock? Do you want me to make you come all over yourself?”

“Yes,” Spock had gasped, “Yes, Captain, please, please, please—”

The man at Jim’s back grunted and slammed even harder, jarring Jim out of his memory. He winced.

“Gonna come soon,” he grunted, shoving Jim into the bricks, and Jim let his cheek rest against the rough, cold wall. He couldn’t help but think about how far he’d fallen; his once-unbreakable commitment to keeping sex special now felt totally out of reach. There was nothing meaningful about _this_ , nothing sweet, and Jim grieved the loss, grieved what he had become.

The guy locked in and spilled hot and stinging into Jim’s body. After some rough panting against Jim’s neck, the smell of stale beer on his breath, he slipped out and zipped himself up. He didn’t seem to notice that Jim wasn’t even hard as he too pulled his pants back into place.

“Thanks,” Jim muttered. The guy grunted and patted his cheek before ambling back into the bar. Jim sighed and started toward his apartment.

\---

He was a _beautiful_ Vulcan, tall and slim. All lean lines and smooth planes of muscle, more graceful than… other Vulcans Jim had known.

He was easily 10 years younger than Jim, practically a kid. But Jim could see the power in his hands, the dark, hungry glimmer in his eyes.

This Vulcan—Salshar—had found him in a restaurant near the Vulcan compound. He had been eating alone and kept making meaningful eye contact. After he paid, he approached Jim and said directly, “I am Salshar of Vulcan. I recognize you as Admiral James Tiberius Kirk. I followed your 5-year mission aboard the _Enterprise_ with interest and admiration. Would you allow me to purchase you an alcoholic beverage and discuss your service before engaging you in coitus?”

Oh, how sweet was the awkwardness of a Vulcan among humans! It warmed Jim’s belly like a familiar feast.

Jim held out his hand and watched with satisfaction as Salshar blushed slightly before taking it.

“This is an erotic gesture in Vulcan culture.”

“I know,” Jim said, squeezing the long, cool hand and earning a gasp. “Your proposition sounds lovely, Salshar. And please, call me Jim.”

They found a little Andorian bar near Jim’s apartment and talked for a few hours over four rounds of drinks—scotch for Jim and hot chocolate for Salshar. By the time Jim steered them through his door they were both loose and fumbling, Salshar’s cheeks dark green. He pushed Jim up against the door, hard, a little too drunk to reign in his Vulcan strength.

“Is it true that humans kiss with their mouths?” he panted, face close to Jim’s. His eyes were sugar-bright, curious.

“How about I show you?” Jim purred, and Salshar nodded eagerly, so Jim grabbed his face and brought their lips together, sliding his tongue into the hot Vulcan mouth.

After a few moments, Salshar pulled away. “I do not like that,” he said matter-of-factly.

“O-oh. Okay,” Jim fumbled, slightly surprised. Spock had loved human kissing.

 _Not all Vulcans are Spock_ , he chided himself, and wondered suddenly if he had an ulterior motive for sleeping with Salshar, if he was just trying to get close to something familiar. But he pushed that thought away. He took a breath and smiled.

“Let’s just get you into bed then.”

He took Salshar’s hand and led him through to the bedroom and for a while, they drunkenly groped and sucked and fondled each other. They were both naked and desperately hard when Jim reached over to his bedside table for the lube, but when he poured some on his fingers and then moved to touch Salshar’s hole, Salshar held up a hand.

“I would prefer to penetrate you, if that is acceptable.”

Spock had topped Jim a few times—for the novelty of it, or if Jim was tired or tipsy or just wanted to lie back and watch Spock work himself up, praising and commanding and encouraging him. Spock had liked that, coming undone while Jim stayed calm and in control.

And then there was once, after Jim had nearly died on an away mission, when he was injured and exhausted and Spock had followed him from sickbay to his quarters, ordered him into bed to rest. Jim hadn’t expected Spock to suddenly be all over him, desperately touching his fingers and lips to any part of Jim he could get, opening him up with his tongue, beating into him without ever looking at him.

“Sweetheart,” Jim had said finally, taking Spock’s face in his hands as they jolted up and down with Spock’s thrusts. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

Spock still hadn’t looked at him, but he had buried his face in Jim’s neck and clung to him even tighter.

But usually Jim had been the one to take the lead, draw Spock out and then slip inside him, bring him over the edge. How he had loved that hot, alien squeeze around his cock, Spock wet and wrecked underneath him.

 _No!_ Jim reminded himself again, _This is_ not _Spock_.

He didn’t really feel like bottoming tonight; didn’t feel like giving up control and descending into the vulnerability of being penetrated. But, if he was brutally honest, he didn’t really want any of this. He wanted Spock, but he could never have Spock again. So what did any of this matter, really, in the end?

“Sure,” he smiled and Salshar’s eyes flashed hungrily.

When it was over, Jim ached a little—Salshar clearly hadn’t had a lot of sex with humans and was entirely too rough. But he was Vulcan-sweet, giving Jim a warm look and an almost-smile, touching two fingers to his cheek.

“That was satisfying. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Salshar stood up then, searching the room for his discarded clothes.

“You can stay if you want,” Jim offered, propping himself up on his elbow.

Salshar turned to him with a confused look.

“What would be the purpose of that?”

Jim huffed a sad little laugh. “You’re right, never mind.”

He got up to see Salshar to the door and then later, after the young Vulcan was gone, Jim lay in bed with nothing but the crushing weight of his loneliness for company, sleepless.

\---

There were many more over the next three years. Jim tried to avoid the random men in bars for fear of the press finding out, but there were nights when he gave in to his desire for the penance of a rough, uncomfortable fuck in some shadowy place.

He sampled all kinds of species and genders, but with men he could never bring himself to top again. He wanted to; in fact he found it deeply unsettling to bottom for strangers, people he couldn’t trust to take care of him. But he just couldn’t make himself push for what he wanted.

In the deep recesses of his mind, Jim knew what was going on—he had failed, and now he was punishing himself. He didn’t know exactly what he had done to drive Spock away, but somehow he had erred so gravely that he had lost the most profound relationship of his life.

Spock had been so much more than a friend or a brother-in-arms, more even than a lover, but Jim had failed to hold onto him. Failed to tell him he loved him until it was too late. Sex with Spock had been transcendent; the greatest realization of Jim’s belief that sex should be profound, and now the act was ruined for Jim forever. If he couldn’t have Spock, then Jim wanted sex to be something other than tender and life-giving. It needed to be a tawdry, persecuting reminder of Jim’s failures, a cheap knockoff of how it had felt to merge so intimately with the person he loved, a feeling he would never know again.

Jim and Antonia lasted a little less than a year, and that was ok for a while. But he could hardly blame her for getting sick of a partner whose heart would always belong to someone else.

“You don’t love me,” she’d said sadly, the night she left. “If you can’t find a way to love someone who isn’t Spock, you’re going to be alone forever.”

It wasn’t said in malice; it was simply the truth.

After Antonia left, Jim went on a binge, restricting himself to tall, olive-skinned men with black hair who reminded him of Spock. It was a guaranteed torture session, sure-fire flagellation.

Sonak was a young engineer who sought Jim out at HQ, hoping for advice on serving among humans. He had wanted to speak to Jim specifically based on his well-known friendship with Spock.

Jim got on his knees for Sonak the second time they met. Sonak was eager for Jim to meet his sexual needs; Jim let Sonak fuck him seven times after that. He was an especially perfect choice because there was none of Spock’s warmth in him; he was one of the most truly emotionless Vulcans Jim had ever met. Sex with him left Jim feeling empty and desperate for Spock’s sweet touch, the flash of humor in his eyes. Sonak was the purest torture Jim had found yet.

But he was damn good officer, so Jim recommended him to Decker. Helping his career along was the least Jim could do.

\---

Jim made his way into Starfleet Headquarters. A handful of reporters were milling around in the quad, and Jim tried to edge around them, not making eye contact. The media had been interested in him ever since the five-year mission ended, especially in light of Spock’s unexpected departure for Vulcan.

At first, Jim had smiled his way through an awful lot of false answers, smiles so sharp that the lies poured out of his mouth as easily as blood.

_Yes, Commander Spock has left Starfleet, but he and I parted on the best of terms._

Jim and Spock had parted when Spock, refusing to give any explanation beyond ‘I have allowed emotion to overpower me and I must seek answers elsewhere’ gently but firmly pried Jim’s fingers from around his calf and left Jim on the floor, still begging him to stay.

_Commander Spock’s reasons for pursuing the_ kolinahr _discipline are his own; he of course shared them with me, but it would violate his privacy to disclose them._

Being asked that question was, in fact, how Jim had found out about the _kolinahr_. It was bad enough that falling in love with Jim—if Spock _had_ loved him, Jim didn’t know for sure—had driven Spock back to Vulcan; knowing that it had been such a disturbing emotion that he was abandoning emotion altogether: _that_ was a pill of inexpressible bitterness.

_Yes, I have spoken to Commander Spock. He is established on Vulcan and doing well._

The only times Jim had “spoken to Spock” were the times he had called him over and over again for hours—Spock never answered, of course—leaving voicemails that ranged from indignant shouting to sobbing until he was cut off by the message recorder.

There were more reporters today than usual, though, and Jim was wary. None of his casual or drunken indiscretions had come to light, and he had tried to be discreet. Had one such story found its way to the media, or was there something else going on?

He almost made it through a side door without being noticed, but a shout of “Admiral Kirk!” caught him at the last second.

He turned with his best fake smile, greeting the little throng of reporters as it rushed toward him like a many-headed beast.

A young Orion man got to him first, stuffing a mic in his face. “Admiral! Can you comment on the rumors that have come out about you and Mr. Spock?”

The quad, Starfleet HQ, San Francisco, the Earth, the universe—it all came to a stuttering halt. Jim tried to breathe around the sharp panic. They could be asking about anything; it was so unlikely that someone had stumbled upon the truth.

“What rumors are those?” he asked, light-hearted. “I’m afraid I don’t keep up with the gossip feeds, so you’ll have to clue me in.”

A human jostled her arm through the crowd, pushing her mic into Jim’s personal space as well.

“There’s a rumor going around that you and Commander Spock were lovers.”

The black swallowed Jim up, squid ink in his eyes, poison in his brain.

They weren’t lovers. They were never going to _be_ lovers, not ever again.

 _Say something!_ his mind screamed at him. _They’re going to figure it out if you just stare at them!_

He cleared his throat and chuckled awkwardly.

“I was never aware of this _lovers_ rumor,” he said slowly, buying time, brain desperately trying to weave together some convincing lie, “although I have been told that Spock encountered it several times.”

In truth, they had both often been asked if they were together. It had started happening early in their friendship; there was just something unusual about their closeness that drew the eye, tugged the heart. But even after they _were_ together it had remained a secret, given the complication of their ranks, Spock’s general desire for privacy, and, most of all, the fact that they had never really discussed just _what_ their relationship was. It was hard to announce something that you hadn’t yet defined, that you had talked around for almost a year without ever directly addressing. Jim hadn’t even told Spock he loved him until he was begging Spock not to leave him.

Jim added a charming smile and went on, “Apparently he had always dismissed it with his characteristic lifting of his right eyebrow which usually connoted some combination of surprise, disbelief, and/or annoyance.”

The reporters laughed at his little joke, his implication that Spock experienced, at the very least, those most basic of emotions. Nausea and crushing grief were rising like bile in Jim’s throat. He thought back to the rough man in the bar, to Salshar, to Sonak, to the many other too-rough men he had offered his hole in the past three years. This line of questioning was treading too close; one of those encounters was bound to be discovered. He plowed on in the most distracting direction he could think of.

“As for myself, although I have no moral or other objections to physical love in any of its many Earthly, alien, and mixed forms, I have always found my best gratification in that creature _woman_.”

 _What are you doing?_ Absolute disgust curdled the blood in his veins—lying about his own sexuality just to cover his ass, to keep prying eyes away from his broken heart.

“Also,” he heard himself saying, panic taking over the helm, “I would dislike being thought of as so foolish that I would select a love partner who came into sexual heat only once every seven years."

Some of the reporters looked confused, a few laughed, and Jim gave a half-hearted chuckle and a wave before fleeing into the building. As soon as he was out of sight, he slumped against a wall, breathing hard and cursing himself.

He had just declared himself straight _and_ referenced pon farr, that most private of subjects, in front of reporters from several media outlets. In a matter of seconds, his words would be zooming across the galaxy at warp 10.

After a few minutes of self-pity, he pulled out his communicator to text Bones. He needed to get out of the city, take a break.

_Up for a houseguest this weekend?_

_Don’t suppose this would have something to do with that clusterfuck of an interview you just gave._

Jim let his head fall back against the wall with a satisfying thunk. His comm dinged again before he could answer.

_Guest bedroom’s waiting on you. I’ll go to the store and get us some steaks for tonight._

Jim smiled, took a deep breath.

_Where would I be without you, Bones?_

_Dead._

Chuckling, Jim put his comm away. He had a few meetings to get through today but it would be easier knowing he had a weekend in Georgia ahead of him, no unpleasant sexual encounters, no pressure from work or the outside world. Just him and Bones, a bottle of scotch, and some honest conversation. Just what he needed.

\---

“Captain’s Log, Stardate 2272.1. The entity known as V’Ger has been defeated—or rather, neutralized—by the heroic sacrifice of Lieutenant Ilia and Captain Decker, whom I have reported as ‘missing’ to Starfleet Command. The details of this remarkable encounter—”

Jim’s chime rang. He heard Spock’s hesitant voice say, “Admiral?”

Jim shut off his computer with a suddenly shaking hand. He could finish his captain’s log later.

“Come,” he commanded, and got up from his desk as the door opened and admitted Spock, closing softly behind him.

Spock and Jim faced each other, uncertain. Mere hours ago they had stood like this in the officer’s lounge, the space between them infinite and impassable.

But now Spock’s face was soft and remorseful, hands flexing as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“Hey,” Jim said finally, when it seemed Spock wasn’t going to start this conversation.

“Hello, Admiral.”

“Can you– Can you not use my rank right now?”

“Jim.”

Spock said the word with such reverence and feeling that it brought a lump to Jim’s throat.

“Am I allowed to hug you?” he asked quietly. Spock sighed, as if he hadn't been sure Jim would welcome him at all, let alone ask for physical contact.

“There is nothing of me that is off-limits to you,” he said, and that was all it took—Jim rushed to him, closing the space between them in four long strides. He threw his arms around Spock’s neck and Spock caught him, holding so, so tight.

“ _Jim_ ,” he said again, and Jim allowed himself one little sob before he gathered his composure. Spock was so solid and secure against him, sense memories rushing back in waves, relief cascading over him.

Spock tried to shove his body a little closer to Jim, but they were already so close together that he succeeded only in pushing Jim back, making him stumble.

Jim laughed brokenly. “A bit desperate there, Spock?”

Spock looked so guilty that Jim couldn’t resist taking his face in his hands to temper the teasing admonition. Spock’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Forgive me. It has been so long since… since anyone touched me.”

Jim dug his nails into Spock’s cheekbones and then pulled him back into his arms. Suddenly he didn’t feel like he could get close enough, either.

“Spock,” he hissed. “You stupid idiot.”

Spock nodded, pressing his face into Jim’s neck. “I am that. Jim, there are no words to express how sorry I am. What must I do? How can I bring you back to me?”

“I’m already here, Spock. You don’t have to do anything.”

Spock drew back and scanned Jim’s face.

“I hurt you unforgivably.”

Jim shook his head. “Nothing’s unforgivable. Not for you, anyway. I know that you did what you believed you had to do. What your Vulcan nature demanded.”

Spock stared hard into his eyes and gave a small, reluctant nod. “What I felt for you had become so undeniably integral to my being that, had I admitted and surrendered to my love for you, I believed I would have had to abandon the Vulcan way. But I have come to realize that I can never walk a fully Vulcan path, because _you_ cannot walk it with me.”

Jim swallowed, finding himself unable to meet Spock’s eyes, “You _do_ love me, then?”

Spock took his face in his hands and tipped it up to meet his gaze. “Yes. With everything that I am.”

“I’m gonna kiss you, ok?”

Spock responded by doing it first, wrapping Jim up tight and secure. Jim fisted his hands in Spock’s hair, pulling him closer, closer.

There would be time, later, for introspection. To talk through the last three years, hash things out, set parameters for the future. But in this moment both men needed each other’s touch so badly that there was room for nothing else.

Spock’s hands had already found their way under Jim’s uniform shirt, fingers grabbing desperately at his skin. “I-I want to be as close to you as p-possible,” he stammered. “Are you ready to engage in coitus with me or would you prefer to wait?”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t want to wait. I need you _now_.”

He grabbed the hem of Spock’s tunic and pulled it over his head, tossing it aside and getting his hands on Spock’s chest.

Spock was even skinnier than Jim remembered him, his time in the desert leaving him thin and somewhat haggard, muscles tight and wiry. Jim ran his hands all over the skin that was blushing ever greener under Jim’s touch.

“God, I missed you,” Jim murmured.

“Jim,” Spock’s voice was very nearly a whine. “It was agony to be away from you. I missed everything about you, I was so empty, I am so sorry—”

Jim silenced him with a firm kiss. “No more of that, not right now. Bed.”

He pointed into his sleeping area and Spock went dutifully, lying down and looking up at Jim with desperation as he followed him in, shucking off his clothes. Spock whimpered at the sight of Jim’s cock and instantly rolled onto his side, taking it into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Spock,” Jim swore, grabbing the back of Spock’s head and rubbing reassuring circles.

Jim let Spock suck him for a few minutes before gently pulling away. “I want to get closer to you,” he said, reaching down to take Spock’s pants off before crawling into bed with him.

Spock immediately pulled Jim down on top of him, scrunching up and trying to make himself smaller. He bit and licked at Jim’s lips, wrapped his legs around Jim’s waist, clung to his shoulders.

“Please,” he begged, “I am so wet for you, I need you inside me, Jim, please.”

Jim stiffened slightly and Spock stilled, uncertain. Jim glanced away.

“Spock, I… So, while you were gone, I um. I kinda… got into this habit of bottoming for guys. In fact, I haven’t actually topped since we were together. And it wasn’t… It wasn’t great, to be honest. I really didn’t like it but I… well, I made myself keep doing it _because_ I didn’t like it. And all those guys… made me feel really out of control and I… Do you think you could top? This time? I’ll top next time, I promise, it’s just—”

Spock surged up to kiss him, clutching Jim’s face, rubbing him with his thumbs. Undoubtedly he wanted the reassurance of Jim inside him, something he had always found comforting. But he seemed to know that in this moment he could begin making amends, and that Jim’s need was greater.

He rolled them over, spreading Jim’s legs with two gentle hands on the inside of his thighs. He trailed reverent kisses from Jim’s chest, over his soft belly, down the branding-hot line of his cock, over his balls.

“Bend your knees for me, _ashayam_ ,” he commanded softly, and Jim hooked his hands behind his knees, drawing them up to his chest. Spock kissed his hole lightly a few times, seemingly more for his own benefit that Jim’s, and then began dipping his tongue in and out.

Jim’s eyes rolled back in his head, this feeling so familiar even after three years, as Spock began rubbing the muscles around his hole firmly with two fingers. He was so dutiful in sexual tasks, opening Jim up as precisely and thoroughly as he would complete a science experiment. Jim let himself drift on the overwhelming sensation, repeatedly pushing away his instinct to take care of Spock rather than be cared for by him.

Spock’s lips left Jim’s hole when it was relaxed and needy, briefly kissing the inside of his thigh before he looked up, slipping one long, alien finger inside. Jim arched back with a punched-out gasp as Spock started to work his finger in and out.

“Do you have lubricant?” Spock asked lowly.

“Uh… maybe in my bag, let me—”

“I will look,” Spock insisted, gently withdrawing his finger and getting off the bed to search through Jim’s bag.

Sex hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of Jim’s mind when he bullied his way aboard the _Enterprise_ ; he’d just thrown a few things in a bag and hurried to the shuttle. But he was a promiscuous guy, after all, and there was thankfully a half-bottle of lube in a forgotten pocket.

Spock brought it over with the tiniest hint of a smile. Jim grinned up at him as Spock poured the slick over his fingers, slipping two carefully inside Jim’s body. Jim moaned around the stretch, intense and electric.

Spock worked him until he could get four fingers inside and Jim was gasping, writhing on the sheets and blurting pre-come onto his belly.

“Enough!” he rasped finally. “I need you inside me, Spock, please.”

Spock nodded and slipped his fingers out, wiping them on the sheet. His big cock was straining, natural Vulcan slick pooling around its base and dripping down the insides of his thighs. His smell was heavy in the air and Jim was dizzy with it.

“I love you,” he couldn’t help but say.

Spock crawled over him, one hand in his hair, the other holding his cock as he steered it to Jim’s hole.

“I love you, _t’hy’la_.”

He pushed in, not giving Jim time to process what he had just said: that word which Jim had wanted to be called for so long. Later, later. There would be time later to say everything that needed to be said. For now Jim could focus on nothing but the feeling of Spock inside him. He was unrelentingly full, relishing that moment of overstimulation he usually dreaded, but which was perfect now.

Spock was patient as he waited for Jim to adjust, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek.

“Are you ready?” he asked after a few long moments drew out, clear and sweet, between them. Jim nodded.

Spock began to fuck him, gentle at first but picking up speed quickly, setting Jim’s nerves alight with pleasure. His body and mind were overwhelmed by how close Spock was. Spock’s eyes flared, staring at Jim as if he didn’t quite believe he was real.

“I-is this alright?” he asked, uncertain. Jim nodded frantically.

“It’s so good, Spock, it’s so– fuck, you feel so good.”

He surged up to kiss Spock, tasting arousal and desperation. They twisted against each other, such an urgency of movement. They had simply been apart too long, hurt too much, and there could be nothing slow or relaxed about this ecstatic reunion of bodies. There was a roughness to it that was almost violent, but so unlike the painful sex Jim had been having for the last three years. This, _this_ , was the kind of bottoming Jim needed—a loss of control that was both wild and safe, as illogical a combination at the collision of this human and this Vulcan.

It didn’t last long—how could it? They were both so needy and frantic, and Jim came before he wanted to, muscles locking as he wailed. Spock held him and kissed his cheek, praising, “Very good, Jim, very good.”

As he came down from his orgasm, Jim clung to Spock’s neck, legs hooked around Spock’s back. He was gasping and, he couldn’t deny, crying just a little. Spock beat into him and Jim rode the wave of sensation, lost as Spock pierced him, aware of nothing else in the universe.

Spock’s rhythm stuttered as he crested the ridge of his own orgasm, and he gripped Jim’s ass in both of his strong, unyielding hands.

“ _Jim_ ,” he gasped as he came, and all Jim could do was nod against him, powerless to convey how much he had needed this moment.

They drifted back to themselves slowly, in flashes of awareness. Spock had collapsed on top of Jim and he was too heavy, but Jim didn’t care. He felt safe under the press of Spock’s inhuman weight.

Spock eventually rolled off of him but stayed very close, the side of his head touching Jim’s. Their hands found their way to each other, entangling as if the grip of their fingers could prevent any future separation.

“You’re not going to go away again?” Jim had to ask.

“Never,” Spock promised. “I will stay by your side as long as you will have me.”

Jim chuckled, weary and overwhelmed. “So, forever?”

Spock propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Jim’s face. “Forever and then longer,” he said softly.

Jim reached up and rested a hand on Spock’s cheek. Spock leaned into it. “That’s not a very logical measurement of time.”

“No,” Spock said, that tiny curl of a smile on his mouth, warm and amused, “It is not.”

The luxury of time spread before them—time to talk, to relearn each other, to rebuild. There was time for them, and for now, that was enough.

They slept.


End file.
